by Betty Neels
‘Any improvements you can suggest?’ asked Professor Wyllie in a perfunctory tone, obviously not expecting an answer.
‘Yes,’ she said instantly. ‘Someone—there must be a local woman—to come and clean each day. I could write my name in the dust on the stairs,’ she added severely. ‘The Nissen hut’s all right, I suppose the patients do the simple chores so that you can exclude any allergies.’
Both gentlemen were looking at her with attention tinged with respect.
‘Quite right,’ it was the Dutchman who answered her. ‘They aren’t to come into the house. For a certain period each day they will take exercise out of doors, under supervision, and naturally they will be subjected to normal house conditions.’ He smiled with a charm which made her blink. ‘I am afraid that we have been so engrossed in getting our scheme under way for our ten cases that we rather overlooked other things. I’ll see if Hub can find someone to come up and clean as you suggest.’ He added politely: ‘Do you wish for domestic help in the cottage?’
Eliza gave him a scornful look. ‘Heavens, no—it won’t take me more than half an hour each day.’
As they went back to the study she reflected that it might be rather fun after all, but she was allowed no leisure for her own thoughts, but plunged into the details of the carefully drawn up timetable.
As the time slid by, Eliza saw that she was going to be busier than she had first supposed. Only ten patients, it was true, and those all up and able to look after themselves, but if one or more of them had an attack, he would need nursing; besides that, each one of them had to be checked meticulously, TPR taken twice a day, observed, charted, exercised and fed the correct diet. There would be exercises too, and a walk each day. She asked intelligent questions of Professor van Duyl and quite forgot that she didn’t like him in the deepening interest she felt for the scheme. It was later, when the last case had been assessed, discussed and tidily put away in its folder, that Professor Wyllie said:
‘There’s me, you know. They did tell you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’m not much use if I start an attack, I can tell you—you’ll have to act sharpish if it gets too bad. Got a nasty left ventricular failure that doesn’t stand up too well…’
She answered him with quiet confidence. ‘Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll keep a sharp eye on you. Do you carry anything around with you or do I have to fetch it from Doctor Peters?’
‘Got it with me, Eliza—waistcoat pocket; usually manage to get at it myself before it gets too bad.’
‘You’re not part of the experiment?’ she asked.
‘Lord, no. Couldn’t be bothered—besides, I’m a bit past such things.’ He laughed quite cheerfully although his blue eyes were wistful.
‘Come, come,’ she said in the half-wheedling, half-bracing tones she might have used towards one of her own patients, quite forgetting that this nice old man was an important and learned member of his profession and not merely someone who needed his morale boosted. ‘That’s no way to talk, and you a doctor, too.’
‘Motherly,’ murmured Professor van Duyl, and she detected the faint trace of a sneer in his voice. ‘Is there anything else you wish to know, Sister?’
He was dismissing her and she resented it, but she got to her feet.
‘Not at present, thanks. I should like to go back to my office—if I may?’ She didn’t look at him but at Professor Wyllie, who dismissed her with a wave of his hand and ‘Dinner at eight o’clock, Eliza.’
The rest of the day she spent with the patients, getting to know them, and when their supper was brought over from the house she served it, just as she would have done if she had been on her own ward at St Anne’s. It was almost eight o’clock by the time she got back to the cottage, to find that someone had been in to mend the fire and turn on the table lamp. She tidied herself perfunctorily because she was getting tired, and huddled in her cloak once more, picked up her torch and went up to the house.
The dining room seemed full of men with glasses in their hands. They stopped talking when she went in and stared as Professor van Duyl crossed the room towards her. She eyed him warily, expecting some nasty remark about being late, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken; he was the perfect host. She was given a glass of sherry, established beside him, and presently found herself surrounded by most of the men in the room. She had already met them all that afternoon, but there were three missing, someone told her; Harry, the telephonist, who was on duty, Hub and Fred the cook. They would, they assured her, take it in turns to man the switchboard each evening, and what did she think of the local scenery and did she know that there wasn’t a shop for miles around, and how long had she been a nurse?
She answered them all readily enough, but presently excused herself and made her way over to the fireplace, where Professor Wyllie was sitting in a large chair, talking to Doctor Peters, who smiled at Eliza nicely as he strolled away. She perched herself on a stool in front of the old man.
‘I wanted to tell you that I think I’m going to like this job very much. I spent an hour or so in the hut—what a nice lot of men they are, and so keen to cooperate. It’s all rather different from Men’s Medical, though. I hope I’ll do.’ She looked at him a little anxiously.
‘Of course you’ll do, girl—couldn’t have chosen better myself.’
Her lovely eyes widened. ‘But I thought it was you…’
He chuckled. ‘Let me explain.’ And he did. ‘So you see, Christian was a little taken aback when you arrived. He was so certain that Eliza Proudfoot would live up to her name—a worthy woman with no looks worth mentioning and—er—mature.’
‘Motherly, buxom and tough,’ murmured Eliza.
‘Exactly. And instead of that he opens the door on to a fairy creature who looks incapable of rolling a bandage.’
‘Is that why he doesn’t like me?’
The innocent blue eyes became even more so. ‘Does he not? He hasn’t said so; indeed, he agreed with me that you will suit us admirably—a nice sharp mind and the intelligence to use it, and not afraid to speak out.’ He chuckled gently, then went on seriously. ‘I must explain that Christian is engaged to be married to a very…’ he hesitated, ‘high-minded girl—never puts a foot wrong, the perfect wife, I should imagine, and very good-looking if you like her kind of looks.’ He glanced at her. ‘That’s why he chose you, you see. We had a list of names; yours was the only…’ he paused again. ‘Well, girl, it’s a plain sort of name isn’t it? but if you will forgive me for saying so, it hardly matches your delightful person. It was a shock to him.’
‘Well, that’s all right,’ Eliza declared in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘He was a shock to me and I don’t like him either, though of course I’ll work for him just as though I did.’
‘Honest girl.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, let us eat our dinner and you shall tell me all the latest news about St Anne’s.’
Dinner was a gay affair because she sat beside Professor Wyllie and Professor van Duyl was at the other end, at the foot of the table. Although she tried not to, every now and then she glanced at him and caught his eyes upon her in an unfriendly stare, his dark face unsmiling. It spurred her on to make special efforts to amuse her companions at table, and by the time they were drinking their coffee, the laughter around her was evident of her success. But she didn’t allow this pleasant state of affairs to swamp her common sense; at exactly the right moment she bade everyone a quiet good night and beat an unassuming retreat. But not a solitary one; Professor van Duyl got to the door—despite the fact that he had been at the other end of the room—a fraction of a second ahead of her, and not only opened it but accompanied her through it. She paused just long enough to catch up her cloak and torch from a chair.
‘Thank you, sir,’ her voice was pleasantly friendly, if cool, ‘I have a torch with me. Good night.’
He took it from her, gently, and opened the house door. It was pitch dark outside and cold, and she felt thankful
that it wasn’t raining, for her cap, a muslin trifle, lavishly frilled, would have been ruined. As they turned the corner of the house she slowed her pace. ‘I’m going over to the hut to say good night,’ she informed him. ‘I said that I would.’
He made no answer, merely changed his direction, and when they reached the hut, opened the door for her and followed her inside.
The men were glad to see her; they were, to her surprise, glad to see her companion too. He seemed a different man all at once—almost, one might say, the life and soul of the party, and his manner towards herself changed too; he was careful to let them all see that she was now a member of the team, to be relied upon, trusted and treated with respect; she was grateful to him for that. It struck her then that whether she liked him or not, she was going to enjoy working for him.
They stayed for half an hour while Eliza made sure that they were all comfortable for the night; that they understood what they were to do if any one of them started to wheeze. ‘I’ll be over before I go to breakfast in the morning,’ she assured them. ‘Good night, everyone.’
They left the hut followed by a chorus of good nights and walked in silence to the cottage, and Professor van Duyl unlocked the door for her.
‘Someone came in while I was away and made up the fire,’ she told him. ‘It was kind of them.’
‘Hub—I asked him to. I have a key which I keep in my possession, and I hope that you will do the same.’
‘Of course. Good night, Professor.’ The little lamp on the coffee table cast a rosy glow over her, so that she looked prettier than ever.
He said austerely, ‘And you will be good enough to lock your door when you are in the cottage, Miss Proudfoot.’
‘Well, of course I shall—at night time, at any rate.’
‘During the day also.’
‘But that’s a bit silly!’ She watched his mouth thin with annoyance.
‘Miss Proudfoot, I am seldom silly. You will do as you are told.’
‘Oh, pooh!’ she exclaimed crossly, and without saying good night, went into the cottage and shut the door. She had been in the room perhaps fifteen seconds when she heard the faint tapping on the back window of the sitting room. A branch, she told herself firmly, then remembered that when she had looked out of the window during the afternoon, there had been no tree within tapping distance. It came again, urgent and persistent. She ran to the door and flung it open, and in a voice a little shrill with fright, called: ‘Oh, please come back! There’s something—someone…’
CHAPTER THREE
EITHER he had not gone away immediately or he had been walking very slowly; he was there, reassuringly large and calm, before Eliza could fetch another breath.
‘The back window—someone’s tapping. I’m afraid to look.’
He had an irritating way of not answering when she spoke to him, she thought, as she watched him cross the small room in two strides and fling back the curtains. She shut her eyes tightly as he did so; she might be a splendid nurse, a most capable ward Sister and a girl of spirit, but she wasn’t as brave as all that. She heard the Professor laugh softly, and opened them again. He had the window open and was lifting a small, bedraggled cat over the sill, a tabby cat, badly in need of a good grooming, with round eyes and an anxious look. She was across the room and had it in her arms before she spoke: ‘Oh, what a prize idiot I am! You poor little beast, I never thought…’ She looked at the Professor, who was standing, his hands in his pockets, watching her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, ‘calling you back like that—it’s a bad start, isn’t it, behaving like a coward.’
He didn’t laugh, but said quite gently: ‘You’re not a coward.’ He was going to say more than that, she felt sure, but for some reason he didn’t; only as his eyes fell on the little cat: ‘Shall I take her up to the kitchen with me? Fred and Hub will look after her.’
‘Oh, please don’t, I’d love to keep her—that’s if you don’t mind. She’ll be someone to talk to.’ She had no idea how wistful she sounded. ‘She’s very thin…’ She looked at the small creature for a minute and then back to her companion’s impassive face. ‘She’s going to have kittens,’ she stated.
‘So I noticed. You will need a box and some old blanket, and she looks in need of a meal. Don’t give her too much to begin with—warm milk if you have any.’ He put a hand on the door. ‘I’ll get a box and something to put inside it—I’ll be back very shortly.’ At the door he turned. ‘Lock the door, Miss Proudfoot.’
It was an order, and rather to her surprise Eliza obeyed it without a murmur.
She warmed some milk, the cat tucked under her arm, and gave it to the starving little beast, who lapped it up and mewed for more. Before she could give it there was a knock on the door and when she opened it, the Professor came in, saying as he did so: ‘It is foolish of you to open the door without enquiring who is there, Miss Proudfoot. Don’t do it again.’
‘I shall begin to feel that I’m on Devil’s Island if you go on like this,’ she told him roundly, but he only smiled slightly.
‘I’m responsible for you. Here is a box and the old blanket and Hub sent this—chicken from dinner—I’ll cut it very small, for she mustn’t eat too much at a time. She drank her milk?’
‘Yes.’ Eliza was arranging the box near the fire. ‘She wanted more.’
He was in the kitchen at the table; she could see him through the open door, bending his great height over the chicken. For no reason at all, she found herself wondering about the girl he was going to marry. High-minded, Professor Wyllie had said. The perfect wife and good-looking to boot; he must have picked her with care—a girl who would never irritate him or forget how important he was, and who wouldn’t expect him to run around at night rescuing cats. She set the little beast in the box and called:
‘I’ll finish that, sir. It was kind of you to fetch it. I’ll let her have a little and then she can go to sleep.’
He came back from the kitchen with a saucer of chicken, cut very small, and stood looking down at her. ‘By all means give her some, but I should wait until she has had the kittens.’ He put the saucer down, threw another log on the fire and pulled up a chair. ‘Are you going to stay there on the floor, or would you like a chair?’ And when Eliza said she would stay where she was, he sat himself down and stretched his legs out to the blaze. Apparently he intended to remain.
‘I’m not frightened of being alone,’ she told him.
His dark face was transformed by a charming smile, ‘I know you’re not,’ he assured her, ‘but this creature’s in a poor state, she might want a little help.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Eliza, peeping at him, saw that he had closed his eyes. They opened immediately at a faint mew from the cat, though, and caught her looking at him, so that she had to look away quickly. There was a black and white kitten in the box. ‘Ah, Primus,’ declared Eliza, glad of something to talk about. ‘Do you suppose she belongs to someone? That village I came through on the way here—she could have come from there.’
‘Perhaps, but I doubt if anyone would want her back; she has obviously been on her own for some time. Here’s Secundus.’ A small tabby had arrived, squeaking loudly. ‘I doubt if there will be any more.’
He was right. They sat watching the pathetic little mother, now content and purring, for another ten minutes or so until Eliza asked: ‘Should she have something to eat now? The chicken?’
He offered the saucer, and its contents were scoffed with incredible rapidity, as was a second saucer of milk. The cat licked appreciative whiskers and curled herself up tidily, the kittens tucked up against her.
‘She’s purring again,’ said Eliza with satisfaction. ‘Isn’t that super?’ She got to her feet and the Professor got up too, remarking as he went:
‘We met only today, and yet it seems as though…’ He didn’t finish what he had begun to say but bade her a brusque good night, and she was left to puzzle about it, and wonder why he had looked, all of a sudden,
so very annoyed. Just as she had decided that he was rather nice after all. As she got ready for bed she found herself envying—in a vague way—the girl he was going to marry.
She got up early the next morning so that she might tidy the cottage and tend to the little cat’s needs. The little creature would need a name; Eliza tried out several, but they didn’t sound right, but when she gave it a final stroke and called it, for lack of inspiration, Cat, it responded with such pleasure that she gave it that name then and there.
Up at the house as she passed the kitchen, Hub came out to meet her. ‘The little cat, miss,’ he asked, after a polite good morning, ‘shall I feed her for you during the morning?’
She was glad to have that little problem solved for her. ‘Oh, Hub, if you would—I left the window open so that she could go in and out, and the kittens are well tucked up. I’ll give her a good meal at midday. There are two kittens.’
‘So the Professor told me, miss.’ He smiled at her in a fatherly fashion and went to open the dining room door for her.
There were several people there at various stages of breakfast, but neither of the professors were at table. Eliza exchanged good mornings, ate a good breakfast with the speed of long custom and went over to the hut. It was only just half past seven and still barely light, but it was her first day; there would be plenty to do and she was bound to be a little slow.
The patients were already up, and mindful of her instructions, she took temperatures, noted what sort of a night they had had and served their breakfast. She had only just finished this when Professor van Duyl came in, wished her an austere good morning and sat down at the breakfast table with his patients, where he stayed for several minutes, talking in Dutch or English as the occasion demanded and drinking the coffee she had thoughtfully poured for him. He went away presently, and when she went to her office she found him there, sitting on a corner of the desk, scrutinising the charts. He didn’t look up as she went in, but after a few minutes, asked: ‘The cat is well?’
